


Questions and Answers

by arpita



Category: Hindu Religions & Lore, Mahabharata - Vyasa, महाभारत | Mahabharat (TV 2013)
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Gen, Hinduism, I'm Sorry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Should be canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arpita/pseuds/arpita
Summary: Karna's wife, Padmavati tries asking Kunti a few questions about her husband's death.
Relationships: Karna & Kunti (Mahabharata), Karna & The Pandavas, Karna/Padmavati
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Questions and Answers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayavanavihariniHarini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayavanavihariniHarini/gifts), [Inkn1ght1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkn1ght1/gifts), [thelonewolfwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonewolfwrites/gifts), [geethr75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geethr75/gifts).



> 1\. In many versions, Karna's Wife is called Padmavati. And that is the version I have been hearing since I was a child. Though nowadays, many prefer the name Vrushali, and Uruvi amongst many others. However, for this fic, I have gone with the name Padmavati. The readers, -considering there are any- for their part, can suit themselves to the name they feel like going with.
> 
> 2\. This is merely a work of fiction, and the views expressed are solely based on the writer's perception of the characters, and what they went through after the war. This is, in no way, meant to belittle any character as such. The author has perceived the characters to be humane rather than divine, and hence the derivation. No religious sentiments are meant to be hurt.
> 
> 3\. Comments, criticism are always welcome. Please drop by to voice what you felt.

“Mrityunjaya!” she whispered through the tenebrosity.

It still seemed a myth. 

_ No _ , she corrected herself.

This was no myth. Myths were conjured to lull unsuspecting children to slumber. Myths were a faux consolation to ebb the waves of guilt rising in a turbulent conscience. Myths were just lies, plain, and unadulterated, just to neutralise acrimony of truth.

_ What were myths but glossy cover to the grotesque nakedness that any truth could be? _

_ A sham. _

_ A scam. _

_ A scandal of behemoth proportions. _

Mrityunjaya was definitely no myth. He was no fable. He was no old wives’ tale. 

Padmavati straightened herself. She needed a tangible human to voice the contumacious turbulence within her.

There would be time to weep later.

  
  


\---

  
  


Kunti had never met her firstborn’s wife. She had been keen, yes,  _ if  _ she were being true to herself. But then-

- _ The Royal Garb seldom allowed Mothers who had abandoned their children to heartily bless weddings they were supposed to remain indifferent to. _ -

She was Royalty. Now more than ever. After all, her _ -acknowledged?- _ Eldest Child was now The Monarch of Hastinapura. One that The Land of Elephants had awaited for long.

And now, here she was.

Stern, and erect. Impassive and-

_ Was that scorn in her eyes?,  _ Kunti wondered.

\---

The silence between the two women was uncomfortable. Disturbing even.

Kunti felt Padmavati was asking her questions that she had no straight answers to. The inquisition was incriminating in ways unfathomable. No amount of deeply deliberated, well-meaning consolations were going to be of any avail.

At least not this time.

If Yudhishthira had voiced his misgivings, Padmavati was reasonably not going to hold back.

\---

"Why did you tell Yudhishthira?" Padmavati asked her, quietly.

"I had to," she was answered.

_ Not the answer I was seeking,  _ her eyes shot back.

Silence prevailed, yet again.

It wasn't easy to face one who was in mourning. The Queen Mother had seen enough incriminations in the eyes of those widows, young and old, mothers to children who were now fatherless, mothers to soldiers who had rendered their wombs bare. 

She had seen blood in their eyes.

  
  


_ Strange how blood was repaid in blood. Every drop costing dearer than the last. _

"How does it feel, Mother?" she asked.

"Like my heart has been impaled," comes the tremulous retort.

"You camouflage your grief well, My Lady," Padmavati said, laughter alluding in her voice, as tangible as the fire that lit The Queen Mother's magnificent chamber.

Kunti yearned to tell her not to address her by her Honorific.

  
  


She chose not to voice it, rightfully.

“Yudhishthira grieves for him,” she said instead, notwithstanding the incongruity of her words.

Padmavati’s smile silences her in more ways than one. That woman seemed to be catechising her in manners unknown, in ways unheard of. Her smile was a phantom. Cold and steely in all its warmth, as if she were looking at her  _ -rightful?- _ Mother-in-Law with a hint of accusation in her eyes.

“I am grateful, My Lady,” she bows, not in dishonour. 

_ Am I supposed to be grateful for The King’s pharisaic grief? _ , she made herself clear, while saying nothing.

Kunti closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to search for the words that clamoured to spill over. They were more than dry syllables strung together to legible meaning. They were her blood, her guts, the summary of all her wrongs encapsulated into a flood of phrases that she hoped Padmavati would understand.

But then-

_ Did Padmavati come to understand matters she had already made sense of? _

“What would you have done?” Kunti asked her finally.

“We are not strangers to fighting our own battles,”- Padmavati’s voice was strong.

-“And abandoning a newborn,”- she paused, allowing her breath to do the talking for her, “wouldn’t have been an option.”

Pritha lowered her eyes.

_ Why did she know that Padmavati would answer her thus? _

“However, our kind,” Kunti raised her eyes at the words, “have no honour to defend. Unlike Royalty.”

_ You are a woman, like I am. Like Draupadi is. _

_ Besides being a Suta. _

_ Women always have their innate honour to defend, don’t they? _

_ Did status ever matter when it came to feminine honour? _

“I’m sure the world would have had a wretched corner reserved for a woman who bore a child out of wedlock.” the younger woman said flatly.

_ Renouncing Royalty for rags?, _ Kunti wondered.

“I’d rather raise my child on the roads than float him away in a silk-padded basket.” Padmavati made no pretenses.

“But then again, the perspectives of Ruler and the Ruled differ, Rajamata,” she added, the acrimony loud, and clear as a bell.

“We have little care for social manacles,” she continues, her calm words bearing the ferocity of the Sun, that had sired her - _ now dead _ \- firstborn.

“How else would my husband have survived all the scorn?” another smile graced her lips, as serene as the last, as supposedly incriminating as it should have been.

Even being a King hadn’t spared Karna of the wrath of the supposedly high-born. While Duryodhana had his back, and their friendship soothed most of the scars that the society perpetrated on his existence, but-

_ His friendship hadn’t really healed those scars, had it _ ?

Pritha couldn’t apologise. Padmavati wouldn’t have an apology. It was too cheap a cost for a life that had been sacrificed on the altar of social acceptance.

Vasushena’s wife had done what she had wanted to.

“I shall leave you to your thoughts,  _ Mother _ ,” Kunti heard.

_ I shall leave you to decide who slew my husband, Woman, _ Pritha heard.

She didn’t raise her eyes to watch her Eldest Daughter-in-Law take her leave.

\---

Yudhishthira's Grief on Karna's Death:

[ Link 1. ](https://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/m12/m12a001.htm)

[ Link 2. ](https://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/m12/m12a001.htm#fr_0)


End file.
